An Australian friend of mine used to edit the Down Under edition of "Rolling Stone." I was surprised to hear she had quit such a seemingly glamorous job, but she said that, one day, she had been pitched something on some newly hot musical genre — punk or ska or something — and realized that she had been there the last time it came around. Time to go, she decided. I thought — no cheers, please — that there was a reasonable chance that the reappearance in Chicago of "Tony n' Tina's Wedding" might be that moment for me.

Being a lifelong student and supporter of populist live entertainment aimed at those who prefer sports to theater, I reviewed this interactive attraction several times during its 16-year run in Chicago. You may recall the cheesy chapel and fake reception hall at Piper's Alley, in what now is part of the expanded Second City empire. I seem to remember saying that the show was akin to going to a really bad wedding with intolerable guests, all with the added horror of going where absolutely no one knows your name.

But, in this business, ya just never know. I actually had a blast Thursday night at the new "Tony n' Tina's Wedding." Don't judge without going.

Actually you do know — it's just that a lot of people in the arts do not like what the market is telling them. No show runs 16 years and plays to more than 1 million people in this city without having a crowd-pleasing something. And despite many tries, "Tony n' Tina," the original interactive show with the grammatically challenged title, has been much imitated, but never matched in terms of success. With the exception of "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," which drew from this same well, no one ever has come close.

Still, I wouldn't be recommending this thing if it were just like last time. The difference this time around is that the show begins not in some corner of Piper's Alley but in an actual Chicago church — the lovely Resurrection Church on Seminary Avenue in Lakeview, where the congregants are to be commended for their sense of humor. This contrast of dignified locale and silly shtick adds greatly to the amusement, as does the subsequent, conga-like walk down Seminary into the Chicago Theater Works space on Belmont Avenue. This room was built out as the home of the vastly inferior "We Gotta Bingo," and they basically stuck a photo of Frank Sinatra on the wall and called it Vinnie Black's Coliseum. Fine. You're packed in, and the dance party starts right away.

Two other important things also have changed. The scale and quality of the Chicago improv community (not all of whom are in the first blush of youth) have improved vastly in the years since I last saw this show. As you likely know, "Tony n' Tina's" is only a semiscripted affair, and it employs 23 actors to play members of the two feuding families joining in holy matrimony. If you are offended by the humor of ethnic stereotype, walk on by. If you don't like pasta and salad, walk on by. If you don't like the chicken dance, Donna Summer's "Last Dance" or even Prince's "Purple Rain," all of which get an outing here, then you'd be no fun anyway or anywhere, so run on by, ideally right out of town.

Many is the time these performers are stuck with lousy scripts. Here, they get to do their own thing, and a number of them tinkled me pink, including Mitchell Conti and Hannah Aaron Brown, who play the bride and groom, and Brian Noonan, who plays Vinnie and does an old-school stand-up set ("I married Ms. Right. I did not know her first name was always") in the middle of the show. Also great is Micah Spayer, who serves as lead singer and has created a character that looks and acts a lot like Bob Geldof having a rough night. The whole affair has been directed at lightning speed by Paul Stroili, who played Vinnie in the original production and thus who was on the ground for years, mopping up drunks and figuring out what works.

In the 1990s, though, "Tony n' Tina" was not a retro show. Now it is. And that is the biggest change of all — the satire is fused with nostalgia. Stroili and his crew do slip occasionally — they'd do better to keep the show old-school and skip the phones that pop up, for that is where the script resides and it adds to the appeal. They could also use some waiters in Vinny's joint — and they'd make more money at the bar if they had them.

But this is one of those shows that the actors — and they really are a warm, fun crew, many of them having graduated to the oldsters after playing the kiddos years ago — deliver to the paying customers one soul at a time. It's a rough, tough, divisive world out there. Here, everyone was having fun. Go in a group.